Twisted Reality
by skitterish
Summary: You'd be classed as insane if you told someone you'd been to another planet, at least by any "normal" person. But to the Justice League it's just a yearly, monthly, weekly and even daily occurence that sometimes isn't even their fault.
1. contorted

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters within this story, nor do I own the cartoon Justice League.**

* * *

Trees stood, towering and curving over and under each other in grotesque, clawed forms. Faces carved into the ancient bark depicted mouths agape in stunned, silent screams and wide eyed horror. No stars could wink or gaze through the sea of tangled branches and no plants grew beneath the trees. The moon managed to gaze through a small unfilled space between the dirty green clouds and let her silver light dance for a few moments each night but no other light dared touch the forest floor. The air was old and humid, laced with the scent of rot. No birds sang their choruses or tunes be it dawn or twilight, but if you were unfortunate enough to tread too deeply into the tangled chaos then you would have sworn you had heard the shrill screams of its victims before you. Nothing lived for more than a few days except for the spiralling trees but even they had seemingly lost their sanity and grew in all directions but upwards, giving little room to that which did stumble among them. Yet here shadows moved without light and unguided by movement, whether living or un-living.

The shadows danced like water lapping, lapping against twisted banks of darkness with each stone's throw. Their elegance chased with mystery. Between them lay a figure, which looked naked from a distance in the playing darkness, its tight clothing leaving little to the perverse imagination, it wore a bright red full-body suit with dashes of yellow in the shape of lightning bolts woven between the fabric and its boots were a striking gold. The form's state of living was betrayed only by the slight rise and fall of its chest but its stillness was enough to displace a concerned mind. Above it was a carved path of broken branches, snapped from their perches in an attempt to still the figure's fall as it had descended from the sky. Pale lips were still parted from when it had gasped desperately as its broken ribs cracked the silence of the forest. Whispers of concern edged with fear ruffled his hair in a breeze but he failed to open his eyes. His communicator's humming; usually a distant noise which went unnoticed by onlookers, sounded treacherously loud amongst the unnatural silence.

Finally he stirred, a groan escaping his disobedient lips as pain rang through his senses. Distorted images slipped past his vision as the pain twisted them into a red blur. Even when balance was restored, he could make no determination between reality and imagination as he looked all around him in disbelief. Everything looked wrong, bent and reshaped into an abnormal fantasy. He stood warily; joints, both broken and whole protested their stiffness and cracked as he stretched them, but he was tolerant to pain and thought nothing of it. He looked around him again to recheck his surroundings and decided that he had landed in an unworldly place, which despite being another abnormal twist in reality to anyone else was perfectly plausible and even a daily occurrence to him.

He cracked his neck and rubbed the back of his head before reaching for his communicator.

"Hey, J'onn it's me..."

"Yeah, I know I should be in Central City..."

"No, I can't tell you why I'm not..."

"Because I don't know."

He tapped his foot impatiently, slowly at first but as time passed the rhythm became so rapid that the boot became a gold blur.

"I have no idea where I am..."

"I just told you, I don't know how I got here..."

"Could you sort of get me out of here so we can work this out..."

"What do you mean the teleportation device is blocked?"

Just when he had finished his sentence, a loud popping noise echoed through the forest but before the sound could reach his ears a stinging sensation erupted in his back. The man frowned and reached for the place of the new feeling of discomfort that had added itself to the rest and pulled out a dart that had embedded itself just beneath his skin. He eyed it with disinterest. It was made of a hard metal which was unusual to him as darts were such an ancient weapon, they were usually made out of wood. He pondered the use of such a device before fatigue weighed on his eye-lids and his legs shook with weariness. He reached for his communicator again.

"I'll call you back," he muttered, his voice sounding listless and tired before he promptly keeled over allowing sleep to claim him.


	2. Twisted

Pain.

He'd been awoken to it on many occasions, a burning sensation, a stinging sensation, a throbbing sensation. Bones, skin and even his mind had all been harassed with torrents and extremities that he never thought could be induced upon a person and leave but a scar. It was at times like these, when he considered getting a new job.

His first thought was to get up, but as more waves of pain broke through their barriers and clawed at his senses, he thought better of it. His lashes seemed glued together and it took some effort just to pry them open. His vision was, once again, a blur of different shades of red but he could just make out the outline of a well-rounded hill, though it seemed so close.

It was only when the hill moved did he realise that it was a hairless head, its mouth was curved into a gleeful smile that looked childish on the man who wore it, a man whom Wally had known to be a well composed, whilst rather insane figure of evil. He was of course, none other than Lex Luthor.

"You're awake then."

Wally stiffened, every fibre in his body was stood up on end and wriggling with tension. His hands clenched into fists as recognition crept into his mind, fighting back any other emotion and taking its seat at the front of his mind, along with the fear that accompanied it. He momentarily forgot the pain and sat up abruptly, pulling away from those leering eyes. He was grabbed by his cowl which was cruelly torn from his head but he didn't care, Luthor had already seen his face and seeing it again was neither going to further any of his evil schemes or lessen Wally's chances of escaping. He fought the hand as it grasped his hair and turned his head. Green eyes met brown, wild orbs and his actions were stilled suddenly as his perspective on the face grew to accommodate pale skin, flared nostrils and a snarling, painted smile, wide enough to reveal stained, yellow teeth and a gold filling. The hand remained twisted in his bed-ragged, wild hair regardless of his silent protests but before he could retaliate more hands joined the first, locking his arms and legs in vice-like grips. A green tongue darted out to quench its owner's purple lips. Wally had to bite his own tongue to save himself the humiliation of screaming as clawed talons gripped his eye-lids and kept his gaze fixed on the face before him. He could only glare at his assaulter as a long, green nail dragged itself across his face. Wally worked the saliva in his throat and in the only act of rebellion he could think of, spat in his captor's face, aiming for his dirty, glaring eye.

The face drew back in disgust and Wally felt the hands on his limbs clench as he was pulled back into an awkward posture and another needle slammed into the side of his neck.

The red slipped away but before darkness crept in he felt a foot or a hand slam into the side of his face as someone cursed his name.

* * *

The Watch Tower was silent as it ever was at this time of day (or night or however you wanted to look at it) and if it wasn't silent then it was devoid of any sound that could interest J'onn J'onnz as he stared at the monitor which might as well have been blank as far as he was concerned. He wore the same passive expression as he had done for the best part of the past few years between now and the first time his feet had touched earth's soil. Whilst his face betrayed little to nothing, however, his mind battled with logic, knowledge, wisdom and moral.

J'onn had been talking to Flash for no more than two minutes before he had rudely ended their conversation with no explanation for his odd behaviour. Usually J'onn would not have been surprised or worried by the sudden suspension of communication or as J'onn preferred to think of it as "just Wally's way of dealing". However, it was the Flash who had contacted him and when Flash begins a conversation it goes faster than the recipients mind can keep up with but lasts longer than most can cope with. However, this situation had been different, two minutes was a record time for Wally and for once he seemed to have had nothing to say. What worried him further was the Flash's lack of knowledge of his own situation, though that wasn't as unusual as his conversation length. He had attempted everything within his imediate vicinity and power but despite the use of some of the most advanced technology to his knowlege combined with telepathy had him no closer to finding his friend and member of his now extended family.

J'onn had informed the available founders of the league of the Flash's disappearance who had all agreed that few of the members outside the core six should be informed or even none if they could help it. Wally had after all been on leave at the time and though he was technically still a member, questions would be asked if people found out that the Flash had gone missing straight after his departure.

So there he stood, as composed as ever on the outside but fuming restlessly over their inactive decision. Though as usual, nothing showed on his face as he continued to furiously type commands and instructions into the buzzing machine.

* * *

**Thank you all for the reviews, much appreciated and yes I updated the very next day _ that's how much of a life I have ;)  
Now you know that I'm not kidding when I say: "My life is minimal".**


	3. Logical

John squinted with a heavy eye at the computer screen, his fingers tapping involuntarily against the desk to an unknown tune. For the past few sleepless nights he had refused to relieve his exhaustion when Shayera had fled towards his open arms, tears streaming down her face and her dispassionate mask dropped to reveal the sensitive young woman who he had fallen in love with. Only to reveal to him that his best friend had gone missing and they were going to have a meeting to decide whether it was worth going to look for him. As expected he had remained comparatively composed. He had, for instance, not attacked Superman when he had decided that their vote was unanimous, even if three people disagreed with him; himself, Shayera and surprisingly Batman. He had stormed out of the meeting in a gracious manner and had not cursed in rage whilst he trashed his room, despite his strong desire to do so; he had however, trashed his own room.

After much fuming, he had allowed himself to cool off and had decided to take up the mantle of the official observer of the independent detective work, much to the annoyance of Batman. After half an hour of what appeared to be fruitless searching for any clues as to where their lost speedster could be, John had discovered that Batman had eight monitors and four machines that were not computers but "informative sources that you will never understand" and that he was useless at detective work.

He had been observing for two days and three nights which had left him jaded and fatigued. His head swam with the after effects that came with fuelling himself on coffee and the love for his own best friend, he felt it safe to say that coffee worked much better as a stimulus in the long run.

Depression hung in the air as their search uncovered nothing but distractions and dead-ends. The two had shared their rage at their current situation in the form of conversation and they realised that they had many more things in common than they would have thought previously which made their situation all the more depressing.

Consequently, John had received a wad of kryptonite from Batman who had handed it to John out of pure, heart-felt sympathy.

John had then asked him if he kept kryptonite to keep himself safe or whether he carried it to keep Superman's reputation safe, to which Batman had replied;

"No, I carry it because it makes me feel better."

He certainly wasn't wrong.

* * *

Wally stared ahead of him at his unchanging surroundings with little more than minimal interest. He was buried deep in thought and too absorbed to contemplate the contorted land around him. What he did contemplate, however, was even more twisted than his location of abduction. He had awoken to the same emptiness for the past two days, shackled to the same tree and left to his own private thoughts. In ways he was grateful for the isolation; it meant he did not have to face off that monster as he had before and the last encounter had left him with a headache and he was sure that he had a deep, ugly scratch across his left cheek that would not fare well with the ladies.

Fortunately, there were no ladies to see it.

Despite his attempts to see the positives in his current situation, for someone as talkative, energetic and ravenous as Wally it was hard to see the well-polished side of the coin when the grubby side was the one facing him.

Nonetheless, Wally was a naturally positive person and if fate was unkind to him then he'd be just as cruel to fate. Though he had to escape his bindings first.

He had tried vibrating through the metal but had given up when the only confirmation he received assuring him that something had progressed due to his efforts was the sharp growl of his stomach, he had given up on the idea altogether.

He had then attempted to contact J'onn, only to find that his communicator had been removed. He had then wondered why J'onn had not tried to contact him telepathically, but he had quickly shaken the thought from his head. The League would be doing everything in their power to find him and if J'onn wasn't contacting him telepathically then he would certainly have reason not to do so.

It was the reason that Flash was concerned with.

* * *

"I have it!" A voice cried triumphantly and seemingly unaware of the fact that the closeness of the trees shouldn't have allowed it, managed to echo through the forest and despite the distance, it reached Flash in a few seconds who straightened suddenly from his slumped position. He drew slow, calming breaths from the cool, albeit foul air and tried to steady his thundering heart as it pounded in his ears. There was silence for a short while and Flash wondered whether the voice was a hallucination that came with the lack of nutrition (which wasn't as uncommon as you may think when you're severely under paid for a full time job that requires more fuelling junk food than you can afford) until it came again, this time a muffled whisper. The words were so low-pitched they sounded of a foreign tongue and were impossible for Wally to hear over his uneasy heart-beat and the dizziness that was setting in.

Go back to sleep, he kept thinking as his head slumped again and the voice became a soft background chant that lulled him into a cushioned state of unconsciousness.

* * *

**Darn it, this was lousier to write than the first chapter. At least that had some action in it, and suspense in your own story isn't all that great for the author to write when you already know what'****s going to happen. Oh well, soz if you've hated the lack of action, I promise there will be some in the next chapter. Anyway, please give me some feedback; I want to know how you think I can improve this because it's really not working for me. Thanks to those who have reviewed, much appreciated, especially Kyer who has been very supportive. **


	4. A New kind of help

"Damn it!"

A fist pounded the desk, alarmingly close to where John's head was resting on his outstretched arms.

"Hey," he cried. His vision angled to any degree but upright as the blood drained from his head as he sat up.

Batman dragged a hand across his cowl in dismay and ignored John's disapproving look when he sat back in his chair in a gesture of resignation.

"This is getting us nowhere," he muttered.

John's eyes widened in disbelief, "You're not giving up are you?"

Bruce glanced at his companion momentarily before returning his attention to the screen.

John would have taken the lack of an explanation as an invitation to release his own anger on the desk but he merely nodded in response. He had been surprised that their endurance had taken them this far in such a tedious self-assignment. Until he realised…

"We can't just give up," he spat, his jaw set in determination, "We don't know where Wally is, or what he's going through. Anywhere, he could be anywhere, with anyone and wherever he is, he didn't choose to leave us!"

Bruce turned to him; a listless look hid the repressed anger at his team mate's ignorance.

"We don't know that," he snapped blatantly.

John was silenced by his words for a precious few seconds before realisation dawned on him.

"He wouldn't," he said, his hands curling into fists.

"You don't now that," Batman repeated before leaving John to his own devices and to think his reaction through for himself.

John remained where he had been for most of the past few days. He took deep breaths and a swig from his can of soda, savouring the cooling sensation as it trickled down his throat.

"You don't know that!" he retorted, his faith in his friend now burning with a new passion. Fuelled by his fury and determination to see his best friend unharmed; he decided to look else where for some sort of advice and maybe even some help in the task of recovering his lost companion.

He had to look no further than the canteen to find that help hunched over his coffee, girlfriend in hand. He turned to his companions and reattempting his task of trying to convince Ralph and Booster that the girl scouts were to be taken as a serious threat and were responsible for the sudden decline of Asian elephants.

* * *

A shadow danced across his face but Flash didn't stir. His mind was caught between vague dreams and conscious thought. His senses, which were usually alert to some point beyond an unaltered human's capacity, were now so dumb he thought that he was drunk. Nothing had stirred for days and the only sound he had heard for hours was the shuffling of his own feet and the rubbing of the braces that bound him as he made another feeble attempt to brake free of their clutches.

His head now rested against the tree behind him and he sighed in defeat, yet he continued to rub the braces half-heartedly.

It felt like he had been in that exact same position for three days, but that was impossible because that meant that he had gone for more than three days without food or water which would be a personal record for him, not to mention impossible.

Still he was alive and had no-one to complain to therefore he wouldn't complain.

* * *

John eyed his new companion in complete and utter dismay.

"So you're saying he's not here?"

"Nope. Not on the tower nor on Earth, nor on any other planet of this universe."

"So he's in an alternative universe?"

"Could be."

"What do you mean 'could be'?"

"I mean that there are other places our little red friend could be inhabiting at this moment in time," Question replied, too nonchalantly for John's liking.

So he could be dead?"

"As far as I know he could well be."

John frowned, "Okay, so we've established that he could be anywhere and…in any state or form, but how the hell did he get there?"

"That's for the narrator to decide."

"The narrator, as in the person who decides the path of our lives."

"Don't you mean god?"

"Nope, I do not believe in God."

"…Right."

Question rubbed his chin whilst swirling his cold coffee that had managed to remain untouched and undrunk for the whole of two hours.

"Aren't you going to drink that?"

"Why would I do that?"

John raised an eye-brow, "It's coffee, you're meant to drink coffee."

"I know."

"So why aren't you drinking it?"

"It's cold."

"So why didn't you drink it earlier?"

"I didn't want to."

"Then why did you get it?"

"I like the smell."

"…Why did I come to you?"

"Because you were desperate due to the lack of a _normal _detective, though personally, I think that if you could call Batman normal then the world is really going to plummet without the help of girl scouts. You also wanted to retrieve your best friend from what could possibly be evil clutches and, ultimately, impress your girl friend."

John would have glowered at Question if he had the heart to do so, but found that he had lost said will somewhere between Question's explanation of every line in the play Hamlet, written (in his opinion) by Shakespeare and why they should not save the desert rat from its impending doom.

"For such an unsociable person you know a lot about people." He muttered in a tone of disguised curiosity.

"I do not," Question pointed out abruptly, "I just know where you keep your diary."

John was gob smacked for a moment, "Y-you looked in my diary."

"Don't be alarmed, I know where everyone keeps their diaries except for Bruce and ironically Wally. Though to my own credit, Bruce is incredibly paranoid and has probably installed it in a heavily bolted safe with a cloaking device. I also doubt that Wally has the patience to keep a diary, then again, at the speed he's going, I don't think anyone would bother to _try_ to keep track of his life."

John groaned as he sank into his chair. That was when he spotted Clark talking to some of his fellow heroes, his stature unfazed and John couldn't help but notice that Clark didn't look like he'd lost any sleep over their current predicament compared to John who had admitted to himself a day ago when he'd had time to check his appearance that he looked like the walking-dead. The adrenaline began to surge, sparked by the sudden revelation that Clark hadn't been affected by their current in any way, shape or form. John gritted his teeth and looked at Question who had cocked his head in interest.

"Do you know how we can find him?" John asked.

"Nope."

"Can you find out?"

"Possibly."

John stood to his full height and smirked when he received a sideways lance from an agitated Superman who no longer looked so Super-ish to John whilst he was clutching the lead box containing a certain green rock that Bruce had apparently forgotten to take from John who was prone to bouts of fury which led to his "I'll-regret-it-later" acts of foolishness.

"Then we'd better not waste any time here." He stated. Still gripping the box, he turned and began to stalk away, motioning to Question to follow suit. He was going to find his best friend and win over his yet-to-be girlfriend He would then find Clark and Bruce's diaries (with the help o his cloaked companion) and pin every incredibly sensitive and private entry to the notice boards.

* * *

**But that would be a perfectly straight-forward ending and this narrator don't do straight-forward.**

**So anyway, sorry for not updating but I had enough course work to feed a paper shredder and there's till a pile sat on my desk. Anyway, half term's coming up so I should get the next chapter up and running.**


	5. Influence and Ignorance

**Denial**

Denial is considered an unhealthy option from whatever angle you looked at it, unless you were in a desperate situation, then denial can seem to be the only plausible answer. Clark Kent didn't know this. As far as he was concerned, denial was not in his dictionary. It was, unfortunately, in his thesaurus, his best alternative word (or rather phrase) for it was "when everyone else overreacts". This from your perspective no doubt appears cynical and improper, especially in a leader and it is. But Clark didn't know that.

It seemed perfectly plausible to ignore Batman's glares, John's sudden psychotic streak and Shayera's tears as they were all anticipated reactions. Though, he was sure that John's sudden obsession with a lead box was something to worry about along his new best-friend, known to be the most paranoid member of the League and out witted in the scope of insanity only by the Creeper who was still wrestling with the differences between the sane side of him (the attempted uprooting of which had encouraged many psychologists to take their own lives) and the side that focused on pink bunnies and the differences between chocolate and concrete mix, but Clark had left him to his own devices on the basis that both sides held an optimistic view over life optimism was actively encouraged among members.

Clark was convinced that nothing was wrong and that this would all blow over when Wally arrived back complaining that there were no fast food restaurants at the edge of the universe, which was where he had ended up after a tiny accident with the teleportation device. This is why Clark is no better than Creeper in some respects.

* * *

**The Influence of Leadership**

J'onn did not need to read Clark's mind to know that his intentions were comendable. He was after all their leader and for a leader to work most effectively their colleagues had to trust a leader with their lives. That was what he had learnt over the past few years working with the Man of Steel. Whatever his motives, if his ambition was well reasoned then his decision was admirable. Right..?

***

Diana liked to think that she was influenced by no-one. That she could pulverise those who stepped out of line with a finger. With Clark, however, this was not the case. Clark was, in theory, indestructible and could therefore throw himself in front of a bullet without needing to regard his own safety, without having to pause and regret the consequences. This was what made him such an effective leader in her eyes. As a fellow immortal, however, she failed to grasp the fact that whilst Clark was prepared to save lives and return without a scratch, there were other members who risked their lives to save members knowing that they'd receive more than a simple graze for their efforts. Whilst Clark was courageous but not to the point where he was suicidal simply because he couldn't be, there were members who were not invulnerable but would do the same for their fellow team mates. She remembered when Shayera had charged head first into the claws of danger and on many occasions had suffered serious injury for her struggles. She remembered when, despite the fact that he'd been powerless, John had crossed the field of battle carrying his, effectively useless green ring. The most memorable occasions were ones that involved her falling into the arms of a certain Dark Knight. She remembered J'onn saving them all from being turned into Lex's croanies when he had fused with braniac. She remembered many more occasions, however, when Wally had foolishly played decoy, most of the time getting himself hurt wasting the time of other Leaguers who had to pull him out. Most clearly, she remembered the fear in his eyes when he had almost vanished into the Speed Force. Diana knew nothing of fear. She lived only to reign over her people and to serve the League, immortality blinded her to such an emotion. So she felt that fear was a weakness. Ergo, Wally was a weakness because he feared death and therefore felt fear in the face of it.

We shouldn't save him. She thought, if he is a weakness then he's endangering himself and the League.

Though she tried to believe that she was certain of her own thoughts, she couldn't stop the heavy tear that left a trail across her cheek.

* * *

**...I hate Clark, now y'know.**

**I know these were very different impressions in both length and deepness but I wanted to emphasise the differences between their motives. It's not that I don't love J'onn. It's that I don't feel that he is a colourful character and therefore his motives wouldn't go that deep, plus he has a better understanding of things than Diana and really doesn't need an explanation. That's my opinion anyway.**

**Soz for the late update (wow ryhmies). Again, my teacher's a ~#?!"&^ and class is a ?~#)%^ bucket full of ?/~#&*, bascially course work got in the way. **

**^.^ **


	6. Ambiguous answers

**Warnings of potentially annoying arguments between a grown man in green and a grown man in a trench coat and new sources of paranoia.**

* * *

A repetitive rhythm, strummed by fingers of a forgotten figure echoed despite the attempted muffling of it by the dry, unforgiving ground.

Wally stared ahead of him at a shadow that moved with all the grace of a lumbering monster and the speed of a falling axe. The strumming grew faster as the shadow grew and anxiousness overwhelmed his senses. The rhythm reminded him of the movie Jaws. With the music played as imaginatively and deliberately as a stick on a grid but as affective and appropriate as the best of tunes.

The strumming stopped when he became too overwrought in his panic to retain his mask of composure and whipped his head from side to side like some possessed creature.

Cackling sounded through the trees like a fog horn but what came with it was no life saving ship or rescue boat. Far from it in fact.

What came with it was an unexpected Lex Luthor, accompanied by his hysteric laughter which Wally could not recognise nor could he relate to its owner whose laugh (though unique) had not been quite so distinct the last time he'd heard it.

The tension eased as Wally relaxed, though he was not sure why. He assumed he'd been expecting something far larger and less...out of place which was what this man was with his expensive suit and leather shoes. There was some air of superiority about the man that Wally had not recognised before. He assumed that it was due to the lack of anything within the forest that could spark any inspiration for emotion with the exceptions of fear and boredom.

"You drifting off there Flash? I'm surprised; I expected a month in this forest to have changed you somewhat. But a guess that thick head of yours barely has enough room for stupidity and terrible one-liners."

Wally snapped to attention and looked Luthor up and down before realising that somehow the man's appearance had managed to change within the time he had taken to look away and then glance back. The change had not improved Lex's demeanour at all. He was now missing at least four teeth and was once an expensive looking suit (probably hiding silk underwear) now sported tears and rips at the seams. His face was crooked on one side, as if, at some point, it had been melted on one side. Silver srands sprouted from his head

Luthor grinned at the shocked expression that proceeded to distort his own face into some wide-eyed image of horror.

"What's wrong Wally? Do I have something on my face?" It said in mock perplexedness as claw like stumps tore through its cheeks.

Wally gaped for a second before shrinking into the shadow of the tree he'd spent the past few weeks trying to escape from.

The monster smiled, revealing two sets of gold, metallic teeth buried in his purple gums.

"I'd heard that Luthor was Superman's sworn enemy and a great threat to the League you call _Justice._ Yet, now that I can compare your reaction, I wonder whose presence you would rather be in after meeting me; Luthor's or mine."

Flash blinked but didn't respond to the comment, his mouth still hanging loosely as if skin was the only thing that joined his lower jaw to the rest of his face.

The creature threw back its grotesque head and bellowed a roaring laugh that had the trees cowering in the shadow of such a mighty force.

The roar faltered as the discoloured skin on the monter's shoulders began to bubble and twist, contorting and expanding as it rose and fell, tightening as a twisting cord does then collapsing as a wounded man does. The monster twisted in agony as the skin curled into growth of twisted flesh and rose before solidifying to form a claw like bone that protruded from its left shoulder.

The result of the mutant Luthor groaned in relief and shuddered as the pain subsided before forming a demented grin, aimed at the stunned Flash.

"Care to play, _Wally_?"

* * *

Lantern, once again, found himself staring idly at a computer screen with the intention of helping his best friend, only thid time he was doing something useful. He was actually doing everything for Question who wasn't doing much more than what John hoped was moving his lips. Addmittedly, this sudden switch in assignments was partially due to the fact that Question didn't trust computers but mainly motivated by John's pulsing need to help his best friends or so he kept telling Question who kept retorting with "the diary never lies".

"So, why are you afraid of computers?" John bit back when he ran out of defences to back up his own argument.

"It's not that I'm afraid of them, I'm quite at ease with being in the same room with them when someone else is at the keyboard. In a way they're like my girl friend."

John raised an eyebrow in confusion, "you'd rather your girl friend be with someone else?"

"Yes," Question replied, "When she's in action."

"You'd rather some one else slept with her?"

"No."

"Then what do you mean by 'action'? Do you mean when she's in a fight because that's pretty common amongst human beings. But I don't know how that relates to the computer."

"Well, not really when she's fighting, she has these moments, outside the battlefield, it's hard to explain."

"You mean she's clinically insane?"

"No, that's perfactly normal. This goes beyond clinically insane."

"She just has moments?" John stated bluntly.

"Moments you just hope you never have to witness."

"And these moments link to computers, how?"

"They don't they just cause paranoia. Which I had plenty of before I met her."

"Okay. Moving on."

"Where to?"

"I don't know, you're the detective."

"And you're the one at the controls."

"Yes but you're the detective."

"And you're the one at the controls."

"...You don't know where we're going, do you?"

"Not a clue."

"Arrgh," John ran a hand over his bold head, forgetting momentarily that he had no hair to ruffle. "I thought you said you could help."

"I thought I could, usually I can. Believe me when I say that this is as agravatingly terrifying for me as it is for you."

"...Maybe we missed something?"

"We didn't."

"Did you check the teleportation reports?"

"Of course."

"And?"

"Nothing, everything was fine. Wally should have landed safely in Central City."

"So why didn't he?"

"I have no idea."

John paused, "How do the tereportation devices work anyway?"

"They cause momentary displation in your atoms which then seperate into singular particles which are easily transported down to Earth or just about any other planet that the League knows of."

"What about unknown planets?"

Question shook his head, "It's not impossible but it's highly unlikely, the system is programmed or to but it better, only knows to transport atoms back to Earth. The molecules could somehow fail to regroup but then they woul still be on or within Earth's atmosphere, that I'm almost certain of."

"Almost?"

"Well. even if they weren't they'd be scattered all over the universe and then Wally would be lost forever," he stated in his usual uninvolved, matter-of-fact way that

John's jaw dropped.

"I didn't say earlier because I got the feeling that we were trying to look at the positives."

"That's the lamest excuse I've ever heard."

Question nodded, "That's what Ralph said when I tried to explain the Big Bang theory to him, only he said it was a terrible excuse for squirty cheese."

* * *

**Please review, thanks. Sorry about the cliff-hanger by the way, just a little thing I had to put in ;)**

* * *


	7. Holes to fill

**Warning: Swearing (just an ickle bit), nothing major.**

...

First impressions are, apparently, usually the wrong impressions.

For instance, judging a book by its cover means that you could be missing out on the best read of your life, Ugly isn't always nasty, pretty isn't always nice and the list goes on.

But occasionally, for heroes especially, judging a person within a glance could mean the difference between life and death. Now if that's moral impudence then the world was lost as far as Wally could tell. Then again, he was dangling by his ankle from the grasp of a being that smelt of cologne, wore a torn tuxedo and displayed teeth bigger than the ones that gleamed from the inflated Bollywood posters of India as he had passed in search of a cheap meal. So from his position, just about everything looked pretty dismal and hopeless.

He tried to focus on the ground as it swayed beneath him rather than the pungent tang of fish breath that harassed his nostrils and reminded him of the small problem whose talon he dangled from. At least he wasn't sure whether it was a talon but it certainly wasn't a hand and he wasn't committed enough to pursue the subject beyond this pointer.

"I'd expected some defiance from_ you_, after all red-heads do have more fun, apparently. I'm not entirely convinced."

Wally glanced at him, fear gone and replaced by curiosity. _Was he questioning the advantages of being a red-head?! _His curiosity drained as a furious determination had his jaw set firmly and his knuckles cracking.

"I'd rather be a red-head than fuck-ugly!" he blurted.

The thing grinned again curling its lip and, to Wally's relief, concealed the majority of its yellowed teeth.

"I did not expect such foul lanuage from a so called 'hero'. Luckily, I take no offense from a comment so hypocritical."

Wally guessed that was meant to be offensive, "It's not hypocritical."

"You could have fooled me."

Flash screwed his face in what would have been determination but quickly twisted into a grimace when he caught a wiff of the monster's breath.

It snarled, "Don't worry Wally, what you can't provide in your acts of comedy, you will make up for in your suffering."

A shimmering rod of metal was brought to Wally's attention at this point. It reflected a lethal silver of light that seemed to reinforce the threat that still rang in Flash's ears.

Gears creaked and springs coiled and tensed as he looked for an escape route whilst Wally stared dumbly at the instrument.

"Dude, if that's going up my ass then you will regret this." He exclaimed with more courage than he had.

* * *

John liked to think that he had a sixth sense for the outcome of danger. His suspicion had been proven when he had bought Wally a first aid kit on whim just before the idiot had broken his mirror and fallen on the shards. It had saved him from a telephone call at 4 in the morning telling him that his friend was at the hospital and the nurse there wanted to know if Wally had any motives that could drive him to suicidal measures.

Though Wally had informed John that he thought Bats had been spying on him more frequently after he'd had a medical exam at the Watch Tower just after the incident.

John had shrugged it off as a natural inclination to keep tabs on a potential load on the heavy bundle of stress issues that still sat on the League's shoulders.

Then again Wally had always been a stress issue, one that Batman should know required 24 hour monitoring (most of which had been loaded onto him) and shouldn't need to be added to. Stupid detective.

John reconsidered that statement.

Note to self: Never admit you're wrong but never say that to Bruce's face.

...Speaking of detectives John wondered if Question had found anything since sending him to find some heavily scented caffeine.

* * *

Vic glared at the screen with a look that, even behind his faceless mask, could send a bat running back to his mom.

Except for Bruce who didn't have any parents.

_That was insensitive Vic...but strangely satisfying._

He needed to see someone about that.

Referring himself to the task at hand, Vic continued to do nothing useful. He glared, willing the computer to do anything except explode in what some would call his face.

He had it worked out, he knew he had. The formula was right there, he just needed to double-check his findings.

_Come on Sage, this is for the lives of all of the people of this world. I can't fail because of some distant relation to my girlfriend._

But a heroe's greatest nemesis is their fear of death and, though Vic had discovered this early on in his career, it was the only probem he had attempted and failed to cure himself of, apart from his rumoured insanity though he did not consider this as much of a problem as those around him did.

His gloved hand moved towards the key board, their tips skimming the surface it sat on, he just needed to check, to make sure this was all correct then he and John, and perhaps other members close to Wally could set out to pry him from the clutches of whoever's fists he was caged within.

Things are never that simple.

He was just touching those lettered keys now, images of Huntress's raised fists pounding into his prized coffee table blurred his vision but he continued though his palms were slick with sweat beneath the gloves.

"QUESTION, I'VE FOUND YOUR DAMN COFFEE! DON'T EVER MAKE ME VISIT THAT COFFEE SHOP AGAIN! THAT WAITRESS WAS CREEPY AS HELL AND THAT WAS BEFORE I FOUND OUT SHE WAS A MA-"

Question would have been a mile away at a speed that would have amazed Flash if the room was a little more spacious, though if the walls weren't reinforced with the thickest steel by the best of Batman's technicians it probably wouldn't have phased him.

But they were...the word ergo is reinforced heavily in this sentence.

As long as he was alive, Wally could wait.

Med bay couldn't.

* * *

Question sat up in his bed, he had gone unexamined due to his stubborn refusal to remove any item of clothing, even his shoes.

Despite the liquid he could feel, trailing from his nose and sticking his mask to his "face" and the fact that he had knocked himself out, Vic was sure that his pride was better off than John's who sat in the bed next to him. He had been admitted with minor burns that went from his chin to his abdomen. The doctors had believed they were from the electrical equipment tht had back fired until they had discovered a liquid staining his clothing which after many tests turned out to be traces of coffee. Question hadn't stopped snickering since the diagnosis.

John failed to see the funny side of the matter.

"How the hell did I get _burns_ from _coffee_!? I took at least half an hour to get here."

The volume and pitch of Question's snickering increased until he had to clutch his chest in an attempt to force himself to breathe.

John through him a glare, "It's not that funny!" he snapped.

"Wow, extra hot coffee," Question managed after pressing an oxygen mask to his face, "Gladys _must_ have like _you_."

"Gladys, what kind of name is that for a man?"

"They like to keep their services as feminine as possible over there in order to keep the men happy and emptying their pockets."

"How does naming a man Gladys and dressing her up as a woman keep the customers happy?!"

"Well, it obviously fooled you, you keep referring to him as her and he only does coffee that good for those who are _extra_ nice to him."

"W-what!" John stuttered, "I was not '_extra_ nice' to him, _her_ I mean him."

QUestion sniffed the air, making the sniff as audible as possible because John couldn't see his face mould into an expression of pure bliss, "He didn't seem to think so."

John looked like he was about to protest but when he couldn't find any retaliation, slumped into the matress and began to sulk, unable to see the smirk on Vic's face which once again morphed again into one of bliss as he fed on the scent of a beautifully made coffee.

* * *

To know when the Dark Knight was mildly amused or in one of his, not better but less foul moods you had to know him really well. To know when he was happy you had to know him to the point where you coud read him like a book. To know how to make him happy you had to get inside his mind, sometimes literally.

But you didn't have to know him much, if at all, to know what pissed him off and to know when he was pissed off.

So it didn't take a genius to figure out his mood today and how it had been for the past few days.

The founders had wisely left him to stew and the greater percentage of the League were keeping their distance, whether they had abilities or not.

Sometimes cowering wasn't such a cowardly option.

He had been frantically typing for the past few days, tracking Question and John's research and doing his own in order to keep his findings fruitful and varying, though Question had essentially been keeping on the same train tracksas he add, occasionally steering off into the weird and wonderful worlds of "the poision that is fizzy yoghurt" or "junk food's weighty issues; how over consumption it causes rips in space" and other food related issues.

The point was that, like Question he wasclose but, too like Question for his liking, hehad hit a wall. Though not quite as literally as fortune would have had it if he were the Question.

He needed help.

Sane help.

* * *

**Don't ask, just don't ask, I am simply overjoyed because my cousin was born this weekend and if I want to include some humour into a plot that is spiralling out of control then I will, even if it is my own species of humour that most people don't seem to understand, but i'm not easily understandable. Reviews are juicy and statistically innacurate but generally correct, unless you're a flamer, i can take criticism but not stuff that screams "Die Bitch, you and your famliy should burn in the pits of hell!" Constructive reviews also boost my so far disturbingly unmotivating motivation to write. Ahem, about the coffee and Gladys thing, I imagined everything about Question to be as strange as humanly possible, again mind thing. **


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